[Edward Elric x Alfons Heiderich; R] MethylchloroisothiazolinoneCharacter/Series: Edward Elric/Alfons Heiderich; Fullmetal AlchemistRating: RNotes: When I sat down to write this, I had no idea where it was going. It fleshed itself out a bit, but it was fun for awhile, having no idea where this was taking me. First chapter, written for daysoftheweek, theme Monday- dealing with something unpleasant.' Spoilers for the full series, wildly deviates from the movie. I apologize already for the insane chapter title, but I couldn't help myself. Just don't try to say it three times fast.Music:Methylchloroisothiazolinone by Josh WoodwardTitle: Monday, Tuesday, Happy Days (What A Crock of Shit)Subtitle: Part 1: MethylchloroisothiazolinoneAuthor:yuuoWord Count: 6138Summary:Cold winter light streamed in through the open curtain of the window.

Cold winter light streamed in through the open curtain of the window. The person on the bed made a noise of protest as the light pulled him out of sleep, and he pulled the covers up over his head, trying to curl down tighter under their minimal warmth.

"Edward! Get up!"

Oh, goddamnit.

Wondering if his roommate would give up on him if he just refused to answer, Edward cocooned himself further into the rather threadbare blanket and sheets. Hell, if the rest of this miserable world would get the hint too, that'd be great.

"Edward."

Okay, so he wouldn't.

Alfons's voice sounded like the younger man was standing in the doorway. And if the footsteps were any indication, he'd just walked closer to the bed. "Edward, you promised. It's Monday, remember?"

The German sighed with annoyance, as he did every day that Edward whined about getting up (and that's what he was doing, he damn well knew it, and he could admit it), then grabbed the covers and yanked them back, letting a blast of cold morning air hit Edward's bare skin full-on. Edward yelped, flailed and trying to grab the covers back. "You know, if you slept with clothes on, you might not get so cold," Alfons scolded, dropping the blankets to the floor and standing back, arms crossed.

Edward gave him a positively sour look. "Nobody asked you," he snapped, grabbing the covers off the floor and wrapping them around his shoulders, trying to huddle down under them, although he was admittedly sitting up at least. Under protest, of course. "Besides, usually you're tellin' me to take them off."

For some reason, Edward took a bit of sadistic delight watching how red Alfons turned at that remark. "Only at night. Now come on, you promised."

Just because he felt like further being a petulant brat about it, Edward didn't answer right away, but finally he sighed, shoving back the blankets and fishing around under the bed for where his clothes had gotten kicked in his mad scramble to get into bed the night before. "Fine, fine. I'm up, I'm coming."

"You're going to want a shower," Alfons said, watching him, then frowned. "And don't you have anything clean to wear?"

That earned him more than just a sour look, that earned him an outright glare. "Why does it matter so damn much?" he asked, standing up and pulling on the rumpled shirt.

Alfons matched his bullheadedness. "Because you look like you just woke up in a back alley, and you smell like it, too."

For a fraction of a second, Edward didn't react, and the next moment, his shirt was being introduced to Alfons's face in an annoyed snit as Edward abandoned the dirty clothes and stormed to the bathroom. Behind him, he could hear Alfons's long-suffering sigh.

The old pipes rattled in protest as he turned on the water, yelping at the shock of the cold- Jesus Christ, what happened to the fucking hot water?! -and hurried to adjust the temperature, yelling a string of obscenities for Alfons's long-suffering benefit.

As his usual luck would have it, the water was finally warm enough to be tolerable, and maybe even outright pleasant by the time Edward was done. Miserable, no good, rotten plumbing. Shutting off the water and grabbing a towel for his hair, Edward hurried back to his room, dripping water down the hall because he knew it drove Alfons batshit.

Alfons had laid fresh clothes out on his bed for him, apparently right after making the bed and removing the dirty clothes from Edward's temptation.

Edward really wanted to know how that man managed to be a smartass by being sweet.

He emerged from his room a few minutes later, leaving his wet towel on his floor because that also drove Alfons crazy, and wandered barefoot into the kitchen area of the tiny apartment, looking to see if Alfons had started breakfast.

He hadn't. Probably because the bastard knew that drove Edward crazy. They were a match made in heaven.

Or somewhere, anyway.

Alfons seemed to make a point of not noticing him from behind his paper as he did most mornings until Edward had reached the table and, tired of waiting, gone around and yanked the paper from Alfons's hands. "Oh! Good, I see you found the clothes I laid out for you."

Edward tossed the paper aside. "I would've had to be trying to miss them. You didn't start breakfast?" He never, ever, ever did.

God. That man had such a disarming smile, even when Edward was annoyed at him, it made Edward's stomach tie up into pleasant little knots. "I was waiting for you."

Oh no. Edward wasn't going to let him win this early in the morning. He was up, he was showered and dressed cleanly for something he didn't want to do anyway, Alfons was just going to have to fight harder if he wanted to win against Edward Elric in a match of stubborness. "You were lost in that paper again, is what you were doing."

"Mm," Alfons agreed, eyeing the discarded paper on the ground. "So I was. It was a fairly interesting paper today."

"You always say that and you're always full of shit," Edward snapped, digging around in the icebox. "Are you going to get up and make breakfast, or do you really want me trying to cook?" That oughta get him up and moving his lazy ass.

Ha. Just as Edward predicted, Alfons was up fast enough to almost upend the chair at that. "God no. Step away from the icebox, Edward."

Victory was his. For the moment, anyway. Alfons was sure to steal it later, but for now, Edward savored it like a cat that just ate the canary. "What, you don't like my cooking?" Rubbing it in was also rather fun because like so many other obnoxious little things Edward did, it drove Alfons completely crazy.

Right up the wall and down Edward's throat. (That would come later tonight, of course.) Alfons took his turn at the sour looks. "I'd prefer my food to not remind me of coal, Edward."

"Your loss." Edward picked up the newspaper from the floor and settled at the table to read it while Alfons cooked. Rubbing it in really was so much fun.

---

Edward was never very good with staying awake in classes. Despite his intelligence, despite his hunger to learn and despite the hours he had spent pouring over books and notes, Edward just could not stay awake in a classroom setting. He used to drive Miss Williams to pulling her hair in frustration back in Rizenbul; while the other children were doing the lessons for their respective age group, he'd be so sound asleep on his books that there were a number of pages where the print was permanently smeared from drool.

Eh, they were stupid books anyway.

Alfons nudged his foot and Edward jumped in his seat, looking around blearily for a moment before he shot his roommate a dirty look and 'nudged' his foot right back.

Damnit, bastard ruined a good nap.

At any rate, Edward was certain his father made his lectures even more dry and boring, if it were somehow miraculously possible, on the rare occasion Edward sat in on a class. He wasn't a student, didn't pay any fees, he just occasionally got bored (or possibly just had trouble sleeping and needed something to kick his insomnia) and went to harass his father. Being a professor's son had advantages, though none Edward cared to take advantage of most of the time.

Despite his better standings with his father, he still tended to avoid the man, after all.

But he promised Alfons. So there he was, trying to not fall asleep while his father prattled on to a bunch of overeager, young twenty-somethings who thought they knew everything in the world and acted like they were younger than the eighteen-year-old that infrequently invaded their haven from the outside world.

That'd be one of the reasons Edward didn't go to his father's lectures very often.

Mercifully, Edward seemed to have slept through most of the class.

"Remember your readings for Thursday's lecture," Hohenheim told the class as the students began to gather their things, "and I expect those papers next week on Tuesday, no exceptions."

Hallelujah.

Alfons moved to try to mingle with the other boys, granting Edward the dubious pleasure of a moment to speak to his father alone.

Goddamnit, he promised. He just had to remind himself of that. And if he didn't keep his promise, Alfons may just go without food in protest. Who knew that finding out Edward would go without food and lie about it to ensure Alfons got enough food and get his medicine would make Alfons so damn flustered and stern?

Well, at least he didn't know what else Edward had done to make sure Alfons's needs were met. He'd probably have a heart attack.

Edward wished the old man wouldn't look at him over the edge of his glasses like that. It made him feel as if he oughta feel guilty. Which, well, he already did.

"I got bored," he replied dismissively, hands shoved deep in his pockets and his shoulders hunched a bit. If he realized how much he looked like he was sulking in front of his father, his pride would drag him out back and roll him for lunch money. And in absence of money to steal, it'd be happy to just kick him around for awhile.

His father made a noncommittal noise, shuffling through papers on his desk. "I take it that Alfons has discovered you're not eating as well?" he asked, his voice lowered to a more private conversation volume.

Goddamn, perceptive, observant, know-it-all bastard. Edward saw where he got it from. "Yeah, well, he needs his medicines. If that's how we can afford it, I don't care." He'd had this argument with his father once before- twice, actually- and he seemed intent on justifying and defending his rather stupid sacrifice every time it came up, even though his father only ever reminded him kindly that he had to eat too and then dropped it.

Edward never said he wasn't defensive.

"And so he's asked you to get money through legal means to afford both food for two and his medicines or he'd stop getting his medicines?" Edward could swear that Hohenheim had placed emphasis on the 'legal means' part there, and he almost rose to the bait and started protesting and defending that.

But he resisted.

"Something like that."

Hohenheim's patient expression made Edward want to either shrink out of sight with shame, or explode in a fit of crazy temper tantrum- he couldn't quite tell which was preferable. "You know I have offered in the past to help you boys out. Working on sponsors-"

"Gets us by fine," Edward interrupted, then frowned, looking down at the ground. "Usually. I got by fine back home without help from that money you left us, I don't need to start relying on my father for money now."

And yet here he was, asking for money so Alfons could get his medicines.

He promised. And Alfons needed his medicines. It was for Alfons, the obnoxious, sweet and overbearing pain in the ass that he was. That was enough that Edward could stomach doing it.

That didn't mean he wasn't going to argue about it anyway.

"You were also living on a government salary back then," Hohenheim reminded him.

For a moment, Edward was sullenly silent in response to that. "Not the point."

Okay, so it was entirely the point. Different worlds, different economies, vastly different jobs and Edward was reminded again why he hated this whole goddamn world. If he had his way, he'd get the Gate to take him and Alfons (and yes, even that old bastard) back to Amestris and tell this world to go screw itself.

Sometimes, though, that seemed like a terribly hopeless pipe dream.

After another moment of awkward silence in which Hohenheim watched him with that damnable patience he seemed to have an endless supply of, Edward sighed, glancing towards the door that Alfons was lingering near, just outside in the hall, no longer trying to socialize with anyone, just waiting for him silently.

Damnit.

"How much do you need, Edward?"

Edward hated the quiet tone his father had when he asked that. He swallowed tightly. "Just enough to get through the week. We're meeting with some new sponsors on Friday." And they'd used the last of their food in the icebox for breakfast. (And forget buying bread. Goddamn French.)

For a moment, Edward worried that he'd asked too much - a week's earnings was a lot around here, and a lot to ask for. Then Hohenheim made a thoughtful noise, leaning over and digging around in the leather briefcase he kept next to his desk. "I hope you'll forgive me, then. This is a bit more than you've asked for."

Wait, what?

Edward stared at the envelope that looked suspiciously full that his father was holding out to him. He didn't. He did. That sneaky old bastard. "How long have you had this?"

"Long enough." Add 'enigmatic' to that list of adjectives. "You let me help you very little, Edward. I like to take advantage of the opportunity when it comes."

Goddamn, sneaky, enigmatic, fucking wonderful old bastard. Taking the envelope, Edward clutched it tightly a moment, then tucked it in the inside pocket of his coat. After a hesitation, he managed to stutter out a thanks.

His father smiled. "If you want to thank me, you can take better care of yourself, Edward. I may not have been the best of fathers, but that doesn't mean I can't be concerned for you."

Oh sure. Just when Edward was starting to warm up to him, he had to go and guilt him on top of it. Now he had a melted heart and a guilty conscience. "I'll try."

"One more thing." The change in the pitch of Hohenheim's voice and tone made the hair on the back of Edward's neck raise a bit. That tone meant only bad things. "If you are approached by any sponsors claiming to represent a group called the 'Thule Society' or the Socialist party..." Hohenheim trailed off, shaking his head and taking off his glasses to clean them. "Tell them 'no'. Whatever you do, whatever they offer, tell them 'no'."

That came out of nowhere. It also seemed rather counterproductive to 'taking care of himself'. No matter what they offered? Edward frowned. "Why?"

It seemed that avoidance was genetic, because Hohenheim started shuffling through papers, muttering about students that didn't pay attention. He was about as obvious as dodging questions he didn't like as Edward was. Well, his father he may be, that didn't mean the old man could out-stubborn Edward Elric. Edward crossed his arms, looking at his father. "Why?" he repeated, practically ordering his father to answer with his tone.

See him ignore that.

Hohenheim stopped, then sighed, tucking the papers into his briefcase. "Your brother's safety may depend on it," he finally answered, voice so hushed that Edward almost wasn't sure he heard that right.

The look in his father's eyes when he looked up at him made Edward's blood run cold. "They're after the Gate, Edward. Don't let them get it."

The Gate.

Edward wished there were a chair behind him, and that he could manage to sit down quickly and still retain some dignity.

As it was, he just locked his knees in an effort to stay upright.

"I won't."

---

Somewhere along the way that day, they must've bought food. Edward stared into the icebox, trying to remember where all that damn food came from. ('All that food' may have been an exaggeration- enough to get by for a week still wasn't much, all things considered.)

"Edward? Is there any particular reason you're thawing out the icebox?"

Leave it to Alfons's sarcasm to snap Edward out of whatever daze he let himself fall into. Edward shut the icebox and glanced back at him. "Hey, Alfons. You got your medicines today too, right?"

So the day had been a blur for him and he couldn't remember. It happened to everyone, right?

Alfons gave him a funny look, one eyebrow raising as he crossed his arms. "Of course I did. You were right there when I did it. Did you hit your head again, Edward?"

Christ. One time, and a guy's branded for life.

"No," he snapped, sitting down at the table. "I think I must've been sleepwalking through today since someone woke me up early." He graced Alfons with a pointed, guilt-inducing stare.

Alfons was not one for being easily guilted, unfortunately. "I didn't wake you up too early for what you already promised to go do." Curse his logic. "You've been like this since we left the university. You're not still sore I made you go to your father for help, are you?"

"And what if I am?" Okay, so it wasn't actually the reason- god, the Gate, why would anybody on this side of it know about it and- but Alfons didn't need to know that.

Although, in hindsight, maybe saying that hadn't been the best idea. It seemed to make Alfons rather angry. "Damn your pride," the younger, and generally better-tempered man snapped, stepping over to him and grabbing his flesh wrist, shoving his sleeve up to expose the skin. "Look at this, Edward. You've been starving yourself and the weight you've lost is starting to show."

Edward yelped, yanked his hand back and pushed his chair back out of reach of further unwelcome contact. "And now there's enough food for both of us, so drop it." He scowled, rubbing his wrist slightly. Not that Alfons's grip had hurt, but his pride was certainly a little bruised and since pride was an intangible thing, he couldn't exactly rub that, so he made do. "Besides, it has nothing to do with that. I've just had a lot on my mind."

Like the Gate.

Like his brother.

Like the fact that someone was after the Gate, and that someone was close enough that Hohenheim was worried about them.

Someone was close to the Gate.

To his way home.

The table scraped slightly as Alfons's weight leaned against it, his hip resting against the edge. Edward looked up at him- as interesting as his hips were (right at eye-level), talking to Alfons was usually more effective when Edward was looking at his face. Of course, he should have known that look of concern would be there, replacing the atmosphere of their usual banter and snide comments with something more real and tangible. "Edward, is everything all right?" Edward hated that expression on Alfons. It made him want to talk, and talking was something he didn't much feel like doing.

Which was pretty normal, actually.

"Hey, there's some money left, right?"

There was Alfons's long-suffering sigh again. What, did he really expect Edward to answer his question? "There's some, yes."

"Good. I'm heading down to Bürgerbräukeller," he said, getting up from his chair and heading for the entrance hallway where the coat stand was. "You coming?"

That left Alfons verbally flailing for a moment, before the German was hurrying to catch up. "Edward, what the hell has gotten into you?"

More like what hadn't. He wanted a drink. Badly. "You don't have to come if you don't want to," he said with a shrug as he pulled on his coat, then grabbed the door handle.

There were most days when Edward really hated how tall Alfons was. The bastard reached above Edward and pressed his hand to the door, holding it shut. "Edward, would you talk to me?"

That concerned expression again. Edward paused, then reached up on tiptoes and kissed Alfons quickly, catching the boy off-guard enough to get the door open. "I won't be out late," he said as he headed out the door.

Behind him, he heard Alfons swearing a moment before the sounds of the apartment keys jangling, and then Alfons's footsteps as his friend rushed to join him.

"That was a dirty trick."

Whine whine. Edward rolled his eyes. "It worked though."

"It was cheating."

"It was using the resources available to me," Edward snapped back, hands in his pockets, huddling down under his winter coat. He shot the sky a baleful look. It was gray and overcast and fuck, it was probably going to snow, too. Edward wasn't ready for snow yet. It had lost its appeal without Al around to enjoy it with.

Although it tended to lock him and Alfons up in the apartment together, so it had its perks, he supposed.

Alfons made a pouting noise that Edward found adorable and he almost changed his mind and dragged Alfons back to the apartment, but liquor first sounded more appealing. Nobody said he couldn't still drag Alfons back to the apartment later.

The Bürgerbräukeller was crowded, which was nothing new, and despite his usual antisocial tendencies, Edward found a bit of comfort in that right then. The noise and the presence of so many people would keep him from getting lost in his own thoughts.

A little, anyway.

Ignoring whether Alfons was still with him or not after the effort of shoving through the crowds to get to the bar, Edward ordered his drink- scotch, neat- and found a corner to tuck himself away in. Fortunately, Alfons proved himself a true German and was more than able to muscle his way through a crowded beer hall to get himself his drink and join Edward without ever getting more than a step behind his companion.

Edward's excuse was that he was just a pushy asshole.

"I thought you didn't like alcohol." Alfons made a point of grumbling when he spoke. Right, as if he protested a chance to sit back over a stein like a normal man. The boy was as insecure about himself as a poorly-built house of straw sometimes. He revelled in the parts of his personality that were considered 'normal'.

"I don't," Edward replied even as he downed a swallow of his scotch. "Usually."

"So what prompted this change in opinion?" If Alfons's tone got any drier, Edward might be forced to make an extremely crude joke.

He refrained. "It seemed like a good idea at the time."

Edward really could've done without the way Alfons rolled his eyes at that. "Whenever you say that, it rarely is one, Edward."

In a truly childish display, Edward stuck his tongue out at Alfons for that one. "Just got a lot on my mind, is all." He hesitated for all of a second before he quickly added "and it has nothing to do with my pride, so shut up."

"Your father said something that upset you, didn't he?" Alfons was an awful perceptive bastard sometimes.

"When does he not?" Completely unfair and untrue. Edward was a frequent liar though, as his brother liked to point out at the worst possible times.

"I suppose you're not gonna tell me what he said?"

"Not a chance in hell."

Hell, at least he was honest, right? He justified his actions to himself so much he often wondered if he still hadn't convinced that little voice that represented his all-consuming guilt, or if he just did it out of habit. Well, not like he didn't have a hundred billion other bad habits to turn his brain inside out with, what was another one?

"Hey, kid!" Edward recognized the voice that spoke up just enough to know he never wanted to hear it again as shame and a mortal terror of a secret he'd rather keep buried coming back to haunt him- a feeling he knew well- froze him in his seat a moment.

Oh christ.

Alfons blinked in confusion at the burly, street-poor man stepped over to their booth, resting his elbow on Edward's false shoulder. The man stank of booze, more than about seventy-percent of the other patrons in the hall, and looked like he hadn't showered in a week- smelled about like it, too. "Got a girl that wants to talk business with ya."

Edward struggled to keep the embarrassed flush off his face as he tried to hide behind his drink. "Go away, Franz," he growled. "I'm not doing any jobs anymore."

Jesus wept, didn't the man realize Edward had only been desperate, that he didn't intend to make any sort of career out of-

No, of course he didn't. "Too good for the job now, huh?" God, Edward wanted to slug that smarmy-looking sneer off the man's face. "Say that now, they always come back."

Thank whatever powers were out there, at least the asshole wasn't inclined to push the issue and left, taking his overwhelming stench with him.

"Edward?"

Although if those powers felt like striking him dead right about then, that'd be good too. Edward might decide to be on speaking terms with them then.

"What was that about?"

No lightning. Damn. His hatred for the universe's Powers That Be remained firmly intact.

"Nothing," he replied, finishing off the last of the scotch in his glass- which was a good half a glass -in one shot and trying to hide the way his face turned red with humiliation. If finding out he had skipped out on food to make sure Alfons had enough had pissed off Alfons, Edward was dreading finding out how he'd react to the 'jobs' he'd picked up once or twice to make sure they could afford even enough for one of them.

Desperate times, desperate measures, and someone had to take care of the silly git that just had to go and be raised in the most anti-homosexual religion in the fucking miserable world, thereby getting himself disowned by his family. So clearly, nobody else was going to do it. So Edward did what he could.

Which Alfons didn't always seem inclined to understand. "Nothing." There was that flat, dry tone again. Edward didn't feel much like making a dirty mental joke this time.

"Nothing," he snarled, slamming his glass down on the table and getting to his feet. Either back to the apartment, or another drink. More alcohol sounded appealing, but being caught under Alfons's stern and disapproving and all-too-damn perceptive gaze didn't. And back to the apartment meant alone with his thoughts, without liquor to dull them, and possibly still with Alfons and that damn stare.

He wondered if he had enough on him to buy a bottle to take back with him. Happy medium, right there.

"Edward-"

Edward decided on 'back to the apartment as quick as his feet could damn well take him'. He didn't hear anything else his friend had to say on the matter as he headed for the door, leaving Alfons to decide what to do on his own.

Alfons, apparently, decided to follow him.

Jesus fucking wept tears of blood. (Actually, who cared about this Jesus guy? Besides half the damn crazy world and god, he wanted to go back to his reasonable and sane and only slightly-fucked-up home.)

Mercifully, Alfons didn't say anything on the way back to the flat they shared above Fraulein Gracia's shop, probably more preoccupied with trying to keep up with Edward. Edward wasn't exactly making it easy for him to do that, although after hearing Alfons coughing a couple times as he struggled to breathe, Edward slowed down a bit. He knew that idiot would try to keep up with him, even at the cost of another coughing fit.

Okay, so Alfons could out-stubborn Edward Elric from time to time.

Once they were in the door, Alfons's sense of mercy went back out the door. "Edward, what was that about? Stop lying to me."

"I already told you." Out of his coat. Kick off his shoes. Get out of that narrow entrance hallway, get away, escape. His room, where he could lock his door.

"What business was that man talking about, Edward?" As if he didn't know. Only an idiot wouldn't know by now.

"None of yours," Edward snapped back, storming through the tiny living space that also was the kitchen (it was a really fucking tiny apartment). Back hallway. Bedroom. Escape.

Alfons would never understand. He never seemed to get why Edward did things, why he went without food sometimes, why he disappeared some days and came back with money that he never said where he got it- just once or twice, just a couple of jobs. He had to. To make sure Alfons had his medicine. To make sure there was enough food in the house for at least one of them to eat half of what a starving man would have. To take care of Alfons. To keep death from coming in and taking him away so soon. To buy just a bit more time, even if it was just a few days. Just until Edward could find the way home and take Alfons with him, to a world where there were better doctors, where there were red stones, and he had his alchemy and could fucking fix things again.

For a dying man who spent more time hiding in his books than out in the evil sunlight and being active, Alfons was not only surprisingly fast, but he had a surprisingly strong grip, as Edward discovered when Alfons's hand suddenly clamped down on his shoulder. "Edward? Talk to me."

It didn't matter how soft and soothing that tone was. It commanded Edward.

For as much as he loved the man, sometimes Edward really fucking hated him, too.

"Just let it drop, Alfons. Please. Just... let it fucking drop, okay?" Edward wanted a shower. He wanted a shower so desperately, he could feel his skin crawling. Jesus, when did his life turn into this sort of drama? At least before, there was genuine reason for the bullshit he went through besides just petty human emotions and fucking money problems. Something so goddamn mundane.

More and more, every day, he hated that goddamn world.

When Alfons's grip on his shoulder loosened to a pressure that wasn't going to leave a bruise the next day, Edward pulled himself free, mumbling some excuse about going to bed that he couldn't even remember what he'd said later and headed down the hallway. He immediately shut the door of his room behind him.

Well, shit. Now he was alone with his thoughts and nothing to shut them up.

He supposed that sleep would work well enough. Kicking his shoes off, he stepped over to the bed, working on unbuttoning his shirt for a moment before he paused. Maybe Alfons was right. It was miserably cold in Munich in November, he'd probably be warmer sleeping in his clothes than without any on.

Actually, he'd be even warmer if he'd let go of whatever issues about human contact he was clinging to and just make himself at home in Alfons's bed. The wonderful irony was that this phobia of touching people didn't exist when it came time for blow jobs.

He wanted a shower. But it was too fucking cold to think of taking off his clothes for that and he suddenly didn't even want to take off his clothes anyway. And wearing them in the shower might be somewhat uncomfortable, and probably running with headlong abandon into the territory of 'really fucking melodramatic'.

Of course, Edward never claimed he couldn't be melodramatic. Some days, he considered changing his name to 'Hamlet' and being done with it. (One of the only plays he actually had to read before he managed to convince his father to just give up on trying to integrate him to this new world and let him be the proverbial sore thumb. Wouldn't it just figure.)

As he crawled into bed, he realized idly that he'd have to get up and actually face his roommate in the morning, and shame made his face burn again- at least it was a pleasant change from the stinging cold. He focused on the dull, gray clouds outside of his window, on the way they seemed to silence the entire city, muffling everything. Maybe if he focused hard enough, they could muzzle his thoughts, too.

Wishful thinking was a grand thing. Right up there with denial.

One bad thing Edward quickly discovered about trying to focus on that silence so much as he was- he completely missed the sounds of Alfons opening his door and coming into his room. It actually wasn't until Alfons had sat down on the bed and was squirming under the covers behind him that Edward realized he was there, and then he yelped and flailed in surprise, reaching back to fight off the intruder before he could register who it was.

"Jesus, Edward!" Oh. Shit, it was Alfons. Fortunately, Alfons had managed to catch Edward's wrist, although Edward had a feeling Alfons was never going to let him live this incident down. "Don't kill me, wouldja?"

Edward mumbled an apology, curling up tighter, keeping his back pointedly to his friend, hoping desperately he'd go away.

Of course he wouldn't. That'd be not-obnoxious of him, and the world would fucking stop turning on its axis if they stopped trying to drive each other crazy. Instead of going away, Alfons settled in under the covers next to him, pressing up against his back and wrapping his arm around his waist.

Huh. Edward would've figured the other man would never want anything to do with him again- of course, if he stopped to think of how Alfons truly was, he wouldn't have thought that at all, but Edward's guilt and tiny self-worth tended to override that pesky thing called logic.

"You try too hard to take care of me, you know that?" Alfons's breath was warm against the back of his neck as he spoke, and Edward shivered, pressing back against Alfons unconsciously. "You know, if you told me things, I could help you, too."

Edward tried to shrug it off. "You would've told me no and you wouldn't have gotten your medicine."

In retrospect, Edward probably deserved the whack upside his head he got for that. "No, we would've just found another way. Damnit, Edward, quit shutting me out."

Those words were familiar. One would've thought Edward had learned, but then, even Edward had to admit that he was Edward Elric, and 'would've thought he'd learned' were common words spoken about him.

After a long silence, Edward relaxed in Alfons's grip a bit. "I'm sorry." Two words that for some reason, were both the hardest and the easiest words in the world for him to say. Edward wished he could make up his mind about them. But then life wouldn't be as interesting, would it? Fuck life in a place that was probably anatomically impossible. Edward was getting tired of its shit.

"Just stop leaving me out of things, you crazy foreigner," Alfons replied as he buried his face against the back of Edward's neck.

Crazy, irritating, stubborn bastard.

"You're one to talk."

He was going to kill him with sweetness. "Like knows like. How do you think I put up with you?"

Sweetness and sarcasm, damn him. "Asshole." Edward gave Alfons's ankle a firm kick with the heel of his flesh foot.

Alfons laughed, kissed the spot under his ear where his jaw connected softly, then sighed. "Just sleep, Edward. Things are okay again now."

Edward didn't really believe that- he never did when he heard those words, but for the moment, he could pretend. He didn't feel like curling up in the shower in his clothes, anyway, and Alfons was warm and comfortable to sleep against. So for now, he could pretend, anyway.